


Unresolved

by cuntoid



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Cuckolding, Cuckquean, F/M, Humiliation, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 13:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15708387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: Pam has an itch to scratch and Jim makes an interesting decision.





	Unresolved

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for continuing to ask me to write content for you (collectively, of course, but namely to this commissioner, who never fails to have interesting requests for me). I hope this scratches your itch, as well. :)

It had started as a humiliating conversation long before the odd knock at their door jars Pam from tidying up, Jim having hopped in the shower. It was almost two weeks ago, in fact, a dozen full days since Pam sat beside Jim on their shared bed and took a deep, steadying breath, as if an automatic function of her lungs might save her from the anxiety threatening to pull her under. She tucked her hair behind her ear, something she will do several times absentmindedly throughout their conversation, a nervous tic that Jim finds intoxicating.   
  
“ _Jim_ …”  
  
“ _Pam?_ "  
  
She giggled and slapped his thigh, peered at him through the frizzed curtain of her hair as it fell from behind the shell of her ear again.   
  
“I don’t know… how to ask this, I guess. It’s kind of weird. I don’t know…”  
  
“Just _ask_. Pam, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, okay? So… it’s just me. Just ask me.”  
  
And she did just that – it’s not as if they make Hallmark cards for asking your husband if he’d fuck another woman for you. She’d taken in his eyebrows shooting up, the firm, straight line of his mouth, the way he folded his hands in his lap. She drank in his uneasiness and the traitorous spark in his eye, using it as her very own kindling as she rushed her explanation, reduced herself within moments to a rambling, borderline begging creature. She’d pressed her thighs together and squirmed on the edge of that mattress while Jim stayed silent; it was like training, almost, taking in his secondhand shame and transforming it alchemylike into her own growing arousal.   
  
And finally, after much disorganized convincing from his beloved, Jim had nodded. He turned to Pam and sighed, half-smiled, his eyes so soft and kind. “Okay. Okay, Beesly, you little weirdo. I’ll do it.”  
  
And, with the agreement that Jim would set things up and find a partner, that had been the last real mention of it. Life resumed as normal, save for Pam’s fervent daydreams, the image of Jim fucking someone else on the backs of her eyelids when they had sex. She wondered and waited and wanted, unable to bring herself to just ask Jim, _did you find anyone yet? Did you want to do it soon? Did you forget, did you change your mind?_ An endless parade of beautiful women entered her mind day in and day out, younger women, older women, beautiful bodies of every shape and color being pounded into their mattress. Another woman writhing in their marriage bed, on her pillow. Smelling them on the sheets when they go to sleep.  
  
Nothing but fantasies, now that Pam is too scared to bring it up. It feels like if she asks a second time, Jim will shoot it down, lay it to rest. Consider it a silly fantasy she should keep stuffed in her closet. She watches the reel of their previous conversation over and over in her mind now, ignoring the impatience behind the knocking on the door as she shakes herself back into the present.   
  
“Jim? Somebody’s here,” she calls, drying her hands and making her way over. “Did you pull another stunt with Dwight, because last time he—”  
  
The door swings open during her gentle nagging and the person on the other side is considerably more petite than a Schrute, standing just short of Pam and drawing her lips into a tight, stiff smile, one that barely masks her enduring contempt.   
  
“ _Karen?_ ”  
  
“Yeah, uh… well, frankly, I was just as surprised to be invited over, but…” she shakes her head, shrugging as she glides into the home beyond a stunned Pam. “Here I am. I mean, this is just too weird to pass up, honestly.”  
  
Pam gapes at her and closes the door with a soft hush, turning to face Karen directly. She looks beautiful even in the coat she’s wearing, some generic tan button-down that does nothing to flatter her figure but for the naked length of leg, the suggestive curve of her calves and that tender hollow behind the knees, brushed by the hem.   
  
“What… _what’s_ too weird to pass up?”  
  
Pam forces the question breathlessly, positive she knows exactly what Karen’s insinuating but unable to wrap her mind around the reality of the situation at hand. Jim, like the proverbial God in the machine, hands casually tucked in his pockets and a look on his face that’s just barely readable, strides into the conversation and stands symbolically between the two women. He forces a little smile to each of them as if the tension isn’t sucking out every last precious breath from Pam’s lungs, anxious energy thrumming through her limbs and filling her with the need to fidget, to both demand an explanation and move them to the bedroom.   
  
“Karen… nice to see you. Make it over here okay?”  
  
Jim’s mildness is met with the roll of Karen’s eyes, the derisive and barely hidden scoff that comes out as a snort.   
  
“Right,” Jim says. “So... Pam… I mean, I just figured—”  
  
“Figured that Karen was the right choice? Your ex-girlfriend Karen? _That’s_ who you chose?” Pam shifts her weight from one foot to the other, nervously wringing her hands as she glances between the two. There’s a strange urge to be hurt by this somehow, to consider it some kind of betrayal of trust, or decency, or to feel jealous. Instead, she scrambles to find the correct response. Each swipe of her legs against each other makes her painfully aware of the growing heat there, seated uncomfortably at the apex of her thighs in a faint, trembling throb. “I just didn’t expect… to _know_ her, I guess. The other woman.”  
  
“Did Pam... know about this?” Karen looks incredulously from Jim to Pam, eyes glittering, the corner of her shapely lips twitching up in a smirk. “Did you just invite me over for a surprise romp? _God_ , your guys’ relationship isn’t as solid as everyone thought, huh? Wow.”  
  
“No,” Jim laughs, holding his hand up as if to wave away the sting of her words. He smiles in a disarming way, full of false charisma and charm, like he’s making a little joke. It’s an expression Pam loves. It’s an expression Karen has grown to hate. “It’s not like that.”  
  
Karen nods complacently, keeping her eyes on her ex-lover as she undoes the knot on her trench coat and loosens it. It falls open and she rolls her shoulders as natural as ever, like she’s done this thousands of times, and perhaps she has – the petite body underneath is clothed only in delicate, dark silk, a shade of green that Jim can’t tear his eyes away from to save his life. Pam can’t either. The shape of Karen is so different than her own, tight and soft all at once. Her small breasts are bared to them, the only suggestion of modesty being the slinky panties hugging her hips. The coat drops to the floor and the brush of fabric against the carpet is the only sound in the room until Karen clears her throat.  
  
“So, are we doing this _here_ , or…? Should we go to the bedroom?”  
  
“The bedroom should be… fine,” Pam breathes, forcing herself to look at Jim. He’s a mirror of her own image, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, nervous, excited. She nods and he mimics it, eager to bring his eyes back to the woman in front of them. Pam wipes her palms against the thighs of her leggings and plays with the hem of her ratty old shirt, feeling woefully overdressed as she watches Karen turn on her heel and walk toward the bedroom. Her hips swing confidently where Pam’s walk is meek, watching the barely perceptible twitch in the crotch of Jim’s pants as they follow her. The sight of his cock stiffening just from looking at Karen fills her with a rush so heady she trails a hand along the wall on the way to the bed.   
Karen sits on the edge of the mattress and crosses her legs. They look smooth enough to lick; Pam traces her gaze along the length of a toned calf, the delicate arch of her foot. Karen clucks her tongue at Pam as she moves to sit beside her, to look up at Jim together, to feel the heat radiate off their bodies, but she holds her hand up and shakes her head. She snaps her fingers and points to a chair in a corner of the small bedroom.  
  
“ _No. You_ sit over _there_ —you get to watch. Did you really think I was going to _touch_ you?” She laughs and sits a little straighter, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Take those fucking clothes off. Make an effort. Obviously that’s why I’m here in the first place, you can’t get your shit together enough to make your own sex life exciting. Take ‘em off, I want to get this going.”  
  
Pam and Jim undress with a rushed giddiness that make them smile, and it feels as though they’re back in the early days. Flirting with danger. Throwing caution to the wind in a chase for that insatiable excitement, the newness, the taboo. Pam’s breath comes in sweet, short little huffs when the fabric of her shirt pulls over the stiffness of her nipples, hardening as her skin meets the cool air. The bedroom is usually so stale, the air trapped and stagnant, and now it’s as though she’s breathing in an irresistible perfume. She palms her own breasts, heavy and full in her palms, as soft as Karen's are firm. It draws a hiss from her and she blushes in front of them as they turn toward her. Jim’s equally as red, both in his face and the head of his cock, bobbing proudly in the air as hard as she’s ever seen it. Karen bites her lip and a husky little laugh shakes through her frame.   
  
“ _I remember you,_ ” she kids, taking in an eyeful of Jim's naked body. She nods up at him and tilts her hips up, wiggling them. “Take my panties off, just like you used to.”  
  
Pam kicks her leggings to the middle of the floor and her own panties follow suit to join Karen’s. Jim runs his hands over her thighs, thumbs grazing inside them on the way up, and he watches himself follow the natural line of her body with a quiet reverence. He licks his lips and his brows draw up, helpless, looking agonized and smitten as he parts them and has a look at her cunt, at the clean, parted lips and the neat line of hair above.   
  
“ _Fuck_.” His voice barely reaches above a whisper. He runs his hands back down and up again, coming up short each time as he darts his eyes to his wife.   
  
Pam is captivated. She forces herself to breathe as she watches his fingers, his big, big hands on her shapely legs. She fights every instinct to reach down and touch herself; the apex of her thighs grows slick the longer she watches, the throb inside of her aching to be relieved. There’s a certain nagging in her chest, a pang almost like guilt; she should feel disgusted. She should feel enraged and sad, should feel some kind of envy, but all she can focus on is the weight of her own need.   
  
“You’re pathetic—do you know that?” Karen says it kindly, in a soft voice that belies her disgust for the pair. She shifts her focus back to Jim, eyes snapping fire as she nudges Jim’s cock with her painted toes. He shudders and leans his hips into the contact, eyelids fluttering in the wake of Karen’s derisive giggle. “ _God_ , you’re easy. Come on, Halpert… show me what you’re good for.”  
  
Jim does not look back at his wife before getting on his knees and bending over the foot of the bed, spreading Karen’s thighs even wider in his strong grip to make room for his face. There’s no tenderness or build up; he laps earnestly at her, as if in worship, humming like he hasn’t tasted anything so divine. Karen’s lips part and she watches him with her low-lidded gaze, propped up on her elbows with her thighs framing his head. She squeezes them around him gently, opening and closing and opening and closing until she digs a heel into his back. She hooks him against her cunt when he pulls away in protest of the jabbing and she doesn’t free him, shaking her head in the negative.   
  
“ _Don’t_. I can tell you want to jerk off, and you can’t. _You_ , though, Pam? You go ahead. I don’t give a shit. It’s— _ahh, God, that’s good_ —it’s so sad. Show me how bad you really want this. Fuck yourself in the corner while Jim makes _me_ cum.”  
  
“ _Thank you._ ” Pam spreads her thighs open and reaches for her clit, rubbing in quick, tight little circles. She’s soaked. Every fold and valley, every inch of her, slips against her fingers with ease, and within minutes she’s on the brink of release. Jim licks and sucks at Karen like she’s dessert, moaning against her, keeping his fingers pressed firmly into Karen’s thighs so that they won’t wander down to his own leaking dick as it twitches in the air, neglected. Pam imagines him fucking her mouth while Karen fucks his, one continuous link of pleasure while she pushes her fingers inside of herself and beckons against that hot, swollen patch of flesh just inside. She opens and closes her mouth once, twice, a third time before she finally finds the courage to ask for what she really wants. “Can I cum?”  
  
Karen barks at her between her own snatched breaths, rocking her hips to hurry her release, and it both thrills Pam and dismays her to the deepest level of despair to hear a firm _NO_ usher forth from those pouted lips, her eyes screwed shut as he rides her husband’s tongue, and finally, head thrown back so her gorgeous throat is on display, Karen cums. It spurs Pam into a surprise release, struggling to keep her own fluttering lids open to watch the other woman writhe and buck against Jim, to watch his drool drip all over the curve of her ass below and onto the sheets, a dark spot spreading in the fabric. He licks her clean until she's reaching down to thread her fingers in his hair; she yanks hard enough to make Jim growl against her, and again she squeezes her thighs around him and rides out the vestiges of her climax. Jim turns to watch Pam as the last of her own convulsions end, the stuttered humping against her own palm while her two middle fingers are knuckle-deep in her cunt, spasming, giving her only a moment’s pleasure before heat coils back in her belly like nothing has changed.   
  
The sentiment is shared among them—Karen lifts herself back to her elbows and fixes Jim with a hungry glare, snapping her fingers and nodding at his cock as he stands.   
  
“Fuck me. Fuck me the way I like it, fuck me _hard_. Prove to me that there is any shred of man left in you.”  
  
“Jim,” Pam interrupts, pulling her wet fingers from her body. “Put on a condom, okay?”  
  
“ _No_. I don’t like latex, anyway. And who the hell are _you_ , Pam? He was mine first. You can’t just steal my boyfriend, run off and marry him, and then ask me to come _fuck_ him and decide you’re making all the rules. You’re one sick, sick puppy, you know that? You should bark for me. Right now. Lick those filthy fingers clean and fucking _bark_ like the bitch you are.”  
  
The taste of herself is somewhat foreign to her—Jim’s never asked her to do such a thing, and she moans around it, moans as she watches Jim and his slack-jaw, as if he’s never seen anything sexier in his life. It gives her the illusion of power for a moment, just a flash of it, and then she remembers to bark. And so she does, nervously, a single, awkward woof that makes Karen laugh.   
  
“God, you’re pathetic. Jim, tell her. Tell her it’s pathetic, I mean… she actually _barked_.”  
  
He swallows and levels Pam with the heat of his gaze, hands shaking as he fists the comforter in an attempt to cool himself down. His lips are still slicked with Karen’s cum when he opens them to speak, the moment sapping them of all strength and will to disobey.   
  
“You’re being pathetic,” he cracks. Pam sighs as he says this to her; it’s like having an itch scratched where you can never get it yourself, heat blooming fresh under her skin and pushing her back to the basest of instincts. There’s a primordial need to rut against her hand, or the edge of the chair, or Jim, or, _fuck_ , even _Karen_. She could straddle a pillow and soak it with the intensity of it. Jim stifles a moan and continues, thumbing a bead of pre-cum at the head of his cock and smearing it along his flesh, gritting his teeth as though it singes him to do so. “You belong over there, watching us. Watching _me_.”  
  
“Never was one for dirty talk—we _both_ know that, don’t we, Pam? Or is this another weird kink or whatever you need fulfilled in your painfully vanilla sex life?”   
  
Karen stretches her tiny frame, arching catlike on the mattress as though she might lick her fingers like claws. Her smile is lazy and satisfied, and yet still she spreads her thighs open until Jim comes to fit his hips between them like magnets, running the head of his cock along her entrance, desperate, having to slow his shaking hands to get it right.   
  
“Go ahead, Pam—why don’t you finger yourself again?” Her voice rises into a strained moan as Jim fills her, testing his thrusts before she locks her ankles around his waist and pulls him all the way inside. Their voices join and overlap in a sound so utterly tortured that Pam’s eyes roll back as she listens, fingers working at her clit again as she watches.   
  
She’s a woman transfixed; it’s like each frantic pump into Karen’s supple body is mirrored in her own, in little clenches and throbs, and now Jim has trouble keeping his eyes on his prize. He locks them with Pam’s. He stares at her dripping cunt while he fills another, nodding at Pam, licking his lips, biting them, sweat making the curls at his hairline stick to his skin. She could lick him clean, taste the salt of his sweat as well as the salt of his cum, the sweetness of hers. She’d do that for him. She’d do that for _them_. Her fingers become too wet to glean real pleasure from rubbing her clit; she works two of them inside of her, and then three, rocking against her palm as she cups her own sex. She tries to mimic their thrusting, heated gaze flickering between Jim’s and Karen’s. She can practically smell herself. The air is thick with the scent of their combined sex, pheromones filling her nostrils, lining her lungs.  
  
“ _Keep watching_ ,” Karen whines, “and see how much _I_ please him. See how much we know about each other— _fuck!_ —look what I do to him. Look what he does to _me_. You can’t do this for him, that’s why you need me to come back and be the glue to your fucked up relationship. God— _God_ , Jim, _I’m gunna cum again_. _Faster_. Go _faster_.”  
  
Jim grabs Karen by the ribs and fucks her into the mattress, yanking her body down against him hard enough that their bodies slap together and fill the room, sharpness rising above the hazy smoke of their combined panting and moaning and gasping, and Pam crashes into climax filled with her own fingers while Karen uses Jim’s cock as a human dildo. Pam wails, free hand reaching up to tweak at her nipples until they ache, and a surprising gush fills her palm like an offering. She squirts through her orgasm as Karen demands Jim to pull out.  
  
“ _Cum on my face_ —I’ll be she never lets you do that, does she, Jimmy? _No?_ Come on, big boy, cum all over my face like old times. We don’t need you giving me any accidental Halperts, do we?”  
  
Pam rides against her palm as aftershocks force her muscles to quiver and pulse, milking it for all its worth as Jim scoots clumsily forward and fists his cock over Karen’s waiting mouth, open with her outstretched tongue. He shoots over her sharp cheekbone, over the white of her teeth and that pink, pink tongue, watching her lick it from her lips and chin and reach up to scoop the rest with her finger. By the time Jim backs down, her face is all but cleaned up by her own hand.   
  
Efficient as ever, Karen hauls herself up from their bed and catches her breath, sharing a private laugh with herself and shaking her head as she redresses. Her coat is on and tied up before Pam even removes her fingers, Jim having flopped to his back to cool down in the sobering aftermath of their arrangement. She leans down to check herself in the mirror, finger-combing her hair and licking her teeth before turning to smirk at the both of them and open the bedroom door.   
  
“I’ll see myself out. Consider this closure, and _never_ fucking call me again. Good luck, Pam. Jim.”  
  
Upon her abrupt exit, Jim wiggles his fingers at Pam and she finally rises from her seat, thighs shaking as she makes her way over and collapses next to him. He pulls her close and kisses her forehead and she smiles, basking in the sound of his calming heartbeat.


End file.
